Space Pirates: The Blackpool Flier
by Hibbidyhai
Summary: The Blackpool Flier, a pirate vessel prowling the depths of space, happens upon a vessel that could be carrying a huge payday. But profiting from their stolen loot could have dire consequences.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

The bulk cruiser _Opal Pulse_ sped through the dark of space, its sublight engines burning blue and bright. A fiery explosion of golden light blasted against its shields, followed by a barrage of green and red blaster fire. The cargo ship attempted an evasive barrel roll, rotating like some kind of herbivore playing in the mud.

Two kite-like Cloakshape model starfighters followed in pursuit. The flying wing style fighters, each with a single rectangular spoiler behind the fuselage and twin blaster cannons mounted on each wing, diverted their courses to strike the bottom and top of the freighter simultaneously. They launched two bursts of ionized energy that penetrated its shields, the energy blasts spreading across the ship in jolts, shorting out subsystems and rendering it dead in space.

A shadow eclipsed the distant starlight, throwing the lifeless freighter into darkness. The predatory starship that approached the _Opal Pulse_ fired a tethered penetrator, which slammed into the ship's hull with a sickening thud. The penetrator, a hardened durasteel spike, accomplished the same goal as a tractor beam, halting the freighter's relative motion and allowing the cargo ship to be pulled in, just as a predator would haul in prey towards its doom.

The predatory ship was shaped like an elongated oval, its rusted, bulbous hull giving it the appearance of sea coral. The ship was a heavily modified Mon Calamari corvette, with a flat underside that was perfect for docking with other ships.

The tether drew the _Opal Pulse_ closer until it bounced against the corvette's hull. A docking tunnel equipped with a drill bit extended across the space between the two ships and then spun up, striking against the freighter's hull. Fiery sparks flew in all directions as the drill dug into the durasteel plating.

Inside the bridge of the corvette a tall feeorin male with dark blue skin reached above his head and grabbed a wired comlink mic from the ceiling. The feeorin was approaching middle age, his dreadlock-like head tendrils falling past his muscular shoulders. The end of each tendril decorated with a golden electrum ring, which clanked against each other faintly whenever the feeorin moved. He wore a red armored vest, a pair of black leather trousers, and two silver desh bracelets around each wrist. Completing the ensemble was a ring for each finger, all of them embedded with a different colored gemstone.

" _Opal Pulse,_ " the feeorin spoke, his voice deep and his tone commanding. "This is Koravin, dread captain of the _Blackpool Flier._ Your ship now belongs to me. Your full and complete surrender is required. Comm back now or forever hold your peace."

"They will surrender," Koravin assured his bridge crew, which consisted of a tall Mon Calamari first mate, an arachnid-like Aqualish pilot, and a catfish-faced Selkath navigator.

Pleff, the Mon Calamari, glanced over to his captain and smiled. "Quarter share says they don't surrender," he said.

"No bet, " Koravin answered. He allowed a few minutes to pass before activating the comm once again. " _Opal Pulse,_ you had your chance. Flood them Opuk."

"Aye captain," answered Opuk, the Aqualish pilot, her voice a deep grumble. She flipped a few switches on her controls. Outside of the ship a reinforced drilling spike, mounted atop the docking arm, extended halfway across the space between the ships. The drilling spike suddenly shot forward, penetrating the freighter's hull. Saltwater began to pump into the _Opal Pulse_ , flooding the hapless freighter.

" _Blackpool Flier_ , this is the captain of the _Opal Pulse,_ we surrender," a panicked voice shouted through the comm. "We surrender!" The sound of splashing water could be heard in the background.

"Too late," Koravin answered quietly to himself. "Give them a few moments to drown, Pleff," he said to his first mate. "And then go get the crew ready."

"Aye captain," Pleff answered. The Mon Calamari exited the bridge and walked down the central corridor of the ship until he arrived in the expansive cargo bay. Durasteel cargo containers were secured to the walls of the bay, and a huge tank of water was suspended from the ceiling. The water within it was sloshing around as a pump forced it into the _Opal Pulse_ freighter.

A pair of Neelabi, a very short and stubby aquatic species, who were two of a group of sexpuplet twins aboard the _Blackpool Flier,_ manned the controls of the tethered penetrator. The device consisted of a cannon-like apparatus mounted beneath the ship and a large reel of quadranium coil stored inside the cargo bay.

Standing beside them was the assault team. The team consisted of two leathery skinned Ishi-tib sisters, a bipedal frog-like Rybet, and a skinny orange Quarren, all of whom were readying their blasters.

"Remember, we don't know what the crew is," Pleff said to the group. "Or if they have breathers. So don't assume they are all dead, like last time," he added pointedly, glancing at the Quarren.

"It wasn't my fault," Walaa said with a shrug. "I didn't know wookies could hold their breath that long."

"You're lucky I blasted him," Saruush, the Rybet, said. "He would've had your arm off. And yours don't grow back," he added with a chuckle.

"Stop your bickering and get your arms ready," Pleff yelled. He grabbed a blaster rifle, a vintage Clone Wars era dc-15, from the gun rack situated next to the cargo bay airlock.

Pleff smacked the airlock release button and the assault team entered. He got in behind them and closed the door, after which the opposite airlock opened. Water flooded in, filling the room. The entirely aquatic crew easily swam across the docking tunnel and into the _Opal Pulse._

The assault team stepped over a pair of human bodies and split up. Pleff led the group that worked their way towards the front of the freighter.

Meanwhile, back on the bridge of the _Blackpool Flier,_ Captain Koravin awaited confirmation that the crew of the freighter was dead. It wasn't long before the comm unit crackled. "Captain, we got a couple of survivors," Pleff said. "They locked themselves in the cockpit. I think they got it shut before the water filled it up."

"Stubborn," Koravin said. "Half-stock, you out there?"

"Aye captain," one of the pilots of the Cloakshape fighters answered.

"Pop open the bridge will you. No blasters."

Half-stock, currently flying her cloakshape fighter in a wide patrol orbit around the two ships _,_ turned her fighter on its wing and flew towards the front of the captive freighter. She decelerated until she hovered a few meters outside of the freighter's bridge. Inside a human captain and his co-pilot were up to their armpits in water.

Half-stock, a female Nautalan, bore a superficial resemblance to her Feeorin captain, albeit with thicker head tendrils, green skin rather than blue, and solidly black eyes, rather than ones with pupils. She pushed her fighter gently towards the freighter until its nose collided with the transparisteel canopy of the bridge. A vicious web of cracks formed, but the canopy did not shatter.

The two occupants of the bridge panicked and began wading back towards the door of their compartment. She pushed the fighter forward once more, causing the nose of her craft to smash violently through the transparisteel. The vacuum of space sucked the water and remaining air outwards, enveloping her fighter. One of the humans was thrown wildly out into space, while the other smacked into the cockpit of her fighter with a sickening thud before ricocheting away. "They are taken care of captain," Half-stock said with a slight grimace.

"Survivors are gone, Pleff," Koravin said, relaying the information to his first mate.

"Okay. The rest of the ship is clear," Pleff replied from inside the freighter.

"Secure yourselves," Koravin warned them. "Cargo bay, withdraw the water," he ordered through his comm.

After the water was pumped back out of the _Opal Pulse_ Koravin boarded the captured ship. Stepping over the handful of bodies lying in the corridor, he walked through the damp corridor until he joined his assault team in the freighter's cargo bay.

"What do we got?" Koravin asked. His team stood in front of an armored container that was secured to the cargo bay floor with magnetic clamps.

"Don't know, haven't popped it open," Pleff answered. "Want the honors?"

"Just open the blasted thing," Koravin said with a slight snarl.

Pleff glanced at the others and delegated the order with a snap of authority. "Open it already, you lazy tadpoles."

The Ishi tib sisters, both of whom went by the name Elarza, used ionic force pikes on the container door's locking mechanism. The energy from the pikes shorted out the lock's electronic system and heated the durasteel metal until the blades melted through. They removed their pikes and pushed the doors open.

Cold fog emanated out of the container, momentarily obscuring the pirates' view of its innards. When the fog began to clear Koravin stepped inside, waving his hand past his face to clear more of the stubborn mist.

Metallic racks lined each side of the container, with a narrow path in between the rows. Koravin pulled out a shelf on one of the racks, which was on rollers. The shelf consisted of a tray of ice, within which was frozen a mass of gelatinous eggs.

"What is the prize captain?" Saruush, the Rybet, asked.

"Not sure," Koravin answered. "No labels. Pull the manifest from the ship's computers," he ordered.

"On it cappin," Walaa, the Quarren, answered. Pleff entered the container and examined one of the racks.

"Eggs? Should I be hungry, or horrified?" he asked.

"Let's find out," Koravin said. "Seal 'er back up, wouldn't want our cargo to thaw." He left the Elarza sisters behind to guard the container and ordered Opuk, who was still onboard the _Blackpool Flier,_ to release the docking arm and maneuver their ship behind the _Opal Pulse's_ cargo bay so they could begin preparations to transfer the container. Next he ordered Saruush to go through the rest of the ship and gather any other valuables that might be inside the crew compartments.

Koravin navigated his way back through the corridors, which were still damp from their flooding tactic, until he reached a closed blast door. Walaa was standing before it, still zipping herself into a vacuum suit.

"Central computer is on the bridge, will have to go in to access it," Walaa told Koravin.

"Are you sure you can slice it?" Koravin asked.

"That's why you pay me cappin'."

"Just get it done. I'll have the others move the container, call me when you finish."

By the time Koravin returned to the _Opal Pulse's_ cargo bay Opuk had maneuvered the _Blackpool Flier_ behind the freighter. It was a simple matter to extend and strengthen the rear deflector shields on the pirate's vessel, creating a temporary bubble within which they could open both ship's cargo bay doors without sucking them all into the empty dark of space. The seal from such a maneuver wasn't perfect, microscopic particles would slowly leak out, but as long as they worked quickly the loss of valuable atmosphere would be minimal.

The assault team received the 'go ahead' and lowered the cargo bay doors. On the other side two of the Neelabi twins waited in the _Flier_ 's cargo bay with a magnetic crane at the ready. The Elarza sisters used their pikes to undo the container's floor clamps, the ionic blades sizzling through the metal with an unpleasant screech. The crane extended between the two ships and smacked into the container violently.

"Careful you pond scum!" Pleff shouted. They retracted the crane and, moving much more carefully hauled the container onto the _Flier_.

Koravin and the others hopped across the gap between the two ships just as Saruush entered the _Pulse's_ cargo bay. He carried two containers in each hand.

"What'd you get?" Pleff asked.

"We'll sort through it later, take it to the galley," Koravin interrupted, shaking his head at Pleff and gesturing with his hand for them to jump across to the _Flier._

Koravin oversaw the crew as they secured the container inside the _Blackpool Flier's_ bay. By the time they finished Walaa had hobbled awkwardly into the _Pulse's_ cargo bay, still wearing her vacuum suit. She held a datapad in her hand and gestured towards Koravin.

He nodded and caught the datapad as she tossed it across the gap.

"Help her across," he barked at the Elarza sisters. They jumped back across the gap to the _Opal Pulse's_ cargo bay, each one grabbing her and placing their arms around her waist. Together all three jumped across in unison, just barely clearing the gap.

"Alright, seal it up and push off," Koravin ordered. They closed the _Flier's_ bay doors, allowing Opuk to speed them away from the derelict freighter. The captain left the others behind in the cargo bay and began walking towards the bridge.

"Captain, can I blow 'er up?" Half-stock asked over the comm, as she was still in her Cloakshape fighter.

"Negative, we can sell her to the Blood Salvagers. Only have to give 'em a location," Koravin said. "You and Cutter can dock your ships, we are jumpin' off."

He took his usual position on the bridge, standing behind Opuk and Kellash, the Selkath navigator, as they flew the ship. He placed one foot on the back of Kellash's seat, which was set a half deck lower than the entrance to the bridge.

As they jumped into hyperspace he opened the datapad that Walaa had tossed him earlier. He found the _Opal Pulse's_ manifest and opened the file. The container they had taken was bound for Nar Shaddaa, the Smuggler's Moon. Nar Shaddaa orbited Nal Hutta, the homeworld and capital of the Hutts, the galaxy's most notorious gangsters. The buyer was a hutt from a kajidic, the Hutt name for their family-run criminal empires, that Koravin did not recognize. It had been purchased illegally from poachers on Naboo.

He opened the description of the cargo. The container held over a thousand opee sea killer eggs, the third largest undersea predator on Naboo. The creatures could best be described as hybrids, a cross between fish and crustaceans. They could grow to more than twenty meters in length once they reached adulthood, and they possessed multiple rows of huge bone-like teeth. They were known to eat anything they could physically fit inside their cavernous maws.

Koravin thought he would faint with excitement. The opee sea killer was a rare catch, even on its native world. Each egg would be worth thousands of credits. Images of all the upgrades he could afford on the _Blackpool Flier_ after unloading the shipment flashed through his head. But he would keep one egg for himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Koravin sat inside his private cabin, which contained a chaotic assortment of mismatched furniture and random valuables from his many raids. The cushioned chair in which he sat was carved out of the finest quality Kashyyyk wroshyr tree. It had once belonged to the governor of a mid rim world, before Koravin had raided his palace.

His mind was on business. He had briefly considered ransoming off his cargo to the Hutt it had been meant for, but discarded the idea. The opee sea killers would demand a good price, but he preferred to avoid the wrath of a Hutt crime lord, even one he wasn't familiar with, such as this 'Poualiac the Hutt.'

They were on their way to his secret den, which was an underwater cove on the aquatic swamp world of Ando, the homeworld of Opuk, their Aqualish pilot. He was waiting impatiently for a message from one of his frequent buyers. He had his feet propped up atop a black plasteel storage locker and chewed upon the chitinous shell of a Mon Calamari fire lobster as he waited. He didn't have to wait too much longer.

"Captain, private message inbound from Mr. Lokil," Kellash's deep and watery voice announced over the comm.

"Patch him through," Koravin answered. The holoprojector in his cabin came to life, however it was not the expensive model found on many Imperial ships, the ones that featured live feeds. A still image of Lokil, a horned devaronian smuggler and black market entrepreneur, appeared above the projector. Lokil had decorated the long horns that sprouted from his forehead with elaborate circular carvings, a very unusual thing for his species. Koravin understood that such procedures were quite painful.

"Captain Koravin," Mr. Lokil said in reluctant greeting. "I hope you got in contact with me in order to apologize?"

"Apologize? Have you ever known me to apologize?" Koravin asked. "If anyone ever told you I apologized for anything, please, let me know. I have a vibroblade with their name on it," Koravin threatened jokingly.

"That last product you sold me, the bodyguard droids? They were defective. I ended having to sell them for a loss."

"I'm not a mechanic," Koravin said with a shrug. "You should've tested them before buying."

Before Lokil could respond Koravin cut him off. "But listen, I will cut you a special deal, to make up for it."

"What kind of deal?" Lokil asked, his tone changing from anger to mild curiosity.

"I may have come into possession of a shipment of opee sea killer eggs. Frozen, completely healthy."

"Opee sea killers?"

"Huge crustaceans, monsters almost, from Naboo. Incredibly rare."

"I've never heard of them before."

"Easily worth 10,000 credits, each. I've got a container with hundreds of them."

"So what are you offering?"

"For the whole lot of them, two hundred thousand credits."  
"Two hundred thousand?" Lokil exclaimed. "Have you lost your mind?"

"I could get a million for them from the right buyer myself, easily. But I know how good you are, you could get much more. But as I told you, this is a special deal."

"Then why don't you sell them for that much yourself? How hot are they?"

"They are a little hot. That is another reason I'm dropping my price so low. Plus, rounding up buyers is your business. I'm a finder."

"And just who did you find them from?" Lokil asked sharply.

"I won't discuss it over the holonet. No one too big, I assure you. Mr. Lokil, you are one of my favorites, otherwise I would go to someone else, let them deal with the heat."

There was a pause as Lokil considered the deal. "No guarantees, I need to do some research. But if I find the product is in good condition, I will make an offer. I'm on Formos now."

"I can't travel halfway around the galaxy without a guarantee."

"Fine. I will guarantee a hundred fifty thousand. If it is as good as you say, I will buy the lot of them for three hundred."

"Deal," Koravin said in agreement. Lokil signed off of the call and the holoprojector went out with a lazy, static filled hiss. The first thing Koravin would buy with his credits after offloading the opee sea killers would be a better holoprojector. Well, after building an aquarium for his hand picked opee sea killer baby.

Koravin took the _Blackpool Flier_ to Formos after their stopover on Ando, which allowed his crew a few days of relaxation after the successful raid. While he was there he removed three eggs from the container ship and prepared incubation chambers out of spare parts, which he scavenged from their ship's kitchen. Once he finished tinkering they resembled heated fishbowls, miniature versions of the cribs used on his homeworld. He lowered the chambers into the soup-like water inside their cavernous hideout, with one of the eggs inside of each one. Hopefully when they returned from Formos they would be ready to hatch.

Formos was the location of a shadow port, one of the most important ones in the galaxy outside of Hutt space.Koravin conducted business through multiple shadow-ports throughout the galaxy, mostly in stretches of the outer rim. Shadow-ports were spaceports that did not follow the laws and regulations of the government, whether that government was the Empire or some other entity. They were entry points into the black market, places where pirates and smugglers could offload their cargo without fear of harassment from security forces. The shadow-ports on many worlds operated in as much secrecy as possible to avoid Imperial interference. Some were in remote hidden locations, while others operated in normal spaceports, but were concealed by corrupt officials.

The shadow-port on Formos, however, operated completely in the open, as a normal part of everyday life on the small outer rim world. The heightened black market economic activity existed on Formos for one simple reason, its proximity to the spice mines of Kessel. Formos was the first major port outside of Kessel and the dangerous grouping of black holes that the tiny rocky world had as its neighbor. And so it was the primary drop off point for the smugglers that carried spice away from the mines.

The _Blackpool Flier_ appeared out of hyperspace just outside of the orbit of the small orange world. Formos' two small oceans were a sickly yellow color, and its rather dormant tectonic activity prevented the formation of any significant mountains or otherwise interesting geology. But visitors to this little world on the outskirts of the outer rim were not there for the sights.

"Captain, we've received our landing clearance from the eastern port," Kellash announced as Koravin arrived on the bridge.

He leaned over him, his fingers gripping the vibrosword he wore on his hip. "Take her in. You two will stay with the ship," he ordered, motioning to Opuk as well. After they nodded in acknowledgment he left the bridge behind and walked down the narrow central corridor until he reached the lounge.

He found Pleff and Half-stock playing pazaak, a very common card game, with the rest of the crew surrounding them. The match was played until one of them had won three out of five games. They were tied, two to two. Each round was won by the player who got as close to a score of twenty-three as they could without going over. The players would receive a new card each turn, which increased their score. They could then use a card from their hand to alter the score and get closer to the magic number of twenty-three.

Pleff pressed a button on the pazaak board, locking in his hand at a face value of twenty two, one short of the perfect score of twenty-three. In response, Half-stock, with her hand sitting at a weak eighteen, played her last card, a variable minus five/plus five card, in its positive position, giving her a score of twenty three and trumping Pleff's hand. She clapped her hands and stood over the table in celebration as the Elarza sisters clapped her on the back.

"You could've used that card to give you the first match," Pleff complained.

"Never use up your best weapons right at the start," Half-stock answered.

"Alright, games are over," Koravin announced, raising his voice to drown out the noise from their celebration. "We're about to call into port. Half-stock, you and Cutter stay in your Cloakshape fighters in case we need you. The assault team will come with me."

"You expectin' trouble cappin'?" Walaa asked.

"If you don't expect trouble, trouble will take your head off," he answered, leading the way into the cargo bay and retrieved a blaster pistol from the armory rack.

Two of the neelabi twins were already in the cargo bay, tinkering with some mechanical gear next to the tether cannon. "Point the cannons at anyone who gets nosy," Koravin instructed them.

"Aye captain," they answered. They then relayed the instructions to their brethren throughout the rest of the ship, who manned the _Flier's_ defensive turrets.

Soon the crew felt a rumble followed by a soft thud as the _Blackpool Flier_ landed. The cargo bay door opened and Koravin led the way into the hangar.

The load lifter droids who milled about the spaceport were rusted and caked with a permanent layer of orange dust. Koravin glanced upwards, noticing that there were hardly any clouds in the sky. It was almost noon but Formos' white star gave the sky a permanently gray overcast. There was too little water vapor in the air for the formation of clouds, and Koravin could already feel his skin drying out. Although the temperature was not as blisteringly hot as warmer desert worlds, such as Tatooine or Jakku, he still couldn't wait to get off the planet.

Koravin spotted the dock official, who was standing at the exit to the hangar flanked by a pair of rusty, beaten up IG-RM bodyguard droids.

"Nice ship," the official commented as Koravin approached. He guessed that the man was human, albeit with an odd stone-like skin condition. He wondered if the condition was brought on by the lack of moisture in the air.

"Its nicer than she looks. Meaner too," Koravin said, narrowing his eyes. Koravin was a bad judge of sarcasm in humans, as they lacked the head tendrils that many species used for non-verbal communication.

"I don't doubt it," the man said. "That will be three hundred for the parking fee."

"Three hundred credits? A bit steep for a place like this. That fee come with refueling?"

"Refueling is a hundred and fifty extra."

Koravin understood part of the fee was a bribe.

"Three fifty total, plus fuel, and I wont turn my cannons on your control tower. What grade shields do you have up there?" Koravin countered.

"Uh, three fifty should be sufficient," the man said, looking a little unhappy.

"I'll give you an extra fifty," Koravin said, coming closer to the officials original price, "if you tell me where the _Black Spike_ cantina is?"

"It's just down the main road from the spaceport, in between the Bounty Hunter's guild hall and a bath house. Walking distance."

Koravin placed the appropriate amount of credits in the official's hand and gestured to his crew, who were standing behind him, to follow. The spaceport complex consisted of a ring of open-air docking berths, surrounded by a wide concourse. A large warehouse and storage facility were located underground, and accessed by large lifts located on the concourse outside of each docking berth. The pirates had to cautiously avoid being trampled by an enormous binary load lifter as it hefted an enormous cargo container to one of the lifts. Its programming apparently did not include instructions to avoid crushing small organics underfoot.

They continued around the circular concourse until they arrived at a large lobby. The central section of the room contained seating, which was mostly unoccupied. A semi functional cantina was set into the wall on their right, with multi-species refresher stations located to their left.

The exit was a pair of large blast doors, which appeared to be permanently open. One of the blast doors was partially melted, apparently resulting from an explosion.

They stepped outside the doorway and stood upon the precipice until their eyes got used to the relative increase in light. The street outside of the spaceport was unpaved dirt. Clouds of dust drifted here and there, disturbed occasionally by the passing of air speeders.

"I think its straight ahead, captain," Pleff said. They crossed the t-intersection and walked down the main street. Despite that fact that a half dozen armed pirates were walking by, very few passersby paid them any attention. Most of the ones who did notice, including a down-on-his-luck Neimodian with tattered robes, were trying to sell them things.

"Captain, can I get some groceries? I haven't had any live protein lately," Saruush asked, eyeing the enormous flies the Neimodian was selling.

"Not now, we're on business," Pleff answered before Koravin could bother.

They continued on down the dusty street, passing small apartments and inns. Every building, no matter the wealth of the occupants, seemed caked in a layer of dust and grime. The crew walked up a short hill on the street, and when they arrived at the summit their destination revealed itself below them.

The Black Spike Cantina stood out like a sore thumb. The low lying buildings around it, including the bath house, were at most two stories tall and like most every other building were a sort of drab dusty tan color. But the Black Spike Cantina was painted completely black, with enormous holoboards mounted to the side of the building flashing advertisements in bright colors. The footprint of the cantina crowded its neighbors, and it rose four stories tall, with an open air observation deck on the roof. Each story was progressively smaller as the building rose, giving the building a slightly conical appearance that was true to its name.

"Alright, listen up," Koravin said. "I'm going to be negotiating with the buyer. The rest of you fan out around the bar, keep your eyes on the exits."

The crew crossed the street with their captain in the lead, who was flanked on either side by Pleff and Saruush. The rest fanned out behind them. The front door to the cantina consisted of an open doorway with a short flight of stairs leading down to the ground floor.

An old human was sitting on a chair to one side of the doorway, a blaster laying across his lap. He glanced up at the approaching pirates but did not make a move towards his weapon.

"You boys a' look like your fixin' to fight a war," he said.

"We are not all boys," one of the Elarza sisters scowled.

"My mistake," the man apologized, squinting at her. "You can keep your weapons. But I wouldn' start a fight iffin' I were you. The owner is a powerful man."

"I hate powerful men," Koravin said as the started down the steps.

The inside of the cantina contrasted sharply with the exterior of the building, which bordered on tackiness. Koravin had never been to Corellia, but if he had he would have recognized the stylings as late Republic-era Corellian. It clearly catered to the tastes of the smugglers who frequented the system, who may not all be Corellian, but emphasized with the stereotype of the rogue Corellian spacer.

The room was lit in a very dim soft light, with polished wooden tables, green or red nerf hide leather chairs, and a healthy excess of polished chromium accents. The bar was one long hand-polished wooden countertop. A twi'lek bartender, who dressed in a rather stylish suit with his yellow lekku draping over his shoulders, poured a drink for a human who sat at the bar. Two droids were assisting him, taking orders further down the bar.

Koravin waved his hand to the others. The Elarza sisters took a seat at a table near a darkened corner of the room. Saruush, Pleff, and Walaa sat together at a table near the entrance.

Koravin approached the bar, seating himself a short ways down from the only other customer, the human man. One of the droids, an old protocol model, stiffly walked over.

"May I order a drink for you sir?" it asked politely.

"No drink. I need to talk to the bartender," Koravin answered. The droid shuffled back towards the bar tender to relay the message.

"Can I help you?" the twi'lek asked loudly from down the bar.

Koravin scowled at having to move down the bar in order to talk without his voice carrying throughout the establishment. "I'm looking for Mr. Lokil. He's expecting me."

There was a brief flash of nervousness on the twi'leks face. Most beings probably wouldn't have noticed, but Koravin observed that the bartender's lekku, his head tendrils, were twitching slightly. Having head tendrils of his own, this didn't escape the his notice.

"He's on the next floor," the bartender revealed. "I'll tell him you've arrived. And you are?"

"Koravin."

The twi'lek exited through a door behind the bar, ostensibly to get on a comm. Koravin loosened the blaster in his holster and glanced around the room.

The others were paying attention dutifully. Koravin motioned with his head towards Pleff, summoning his first mate.

"Captain?"

"With me. Be on guard."

Together they walked across the room towards a staircase that led to the next floor. They arrived on a level completely unlike the previous. Instead of Corellian stylings, this floor was modeled after a Coruscant nightclub. Lights of various bright colors were flashing on and off across the elevated ceiling. The layout was rotated ninety degrees from the previous floor, with the bar located perpendicular to where it was on the floor below. There were fewer tables across the floor of the room and a space cleared to the left of the stairs provided ample room for a dance floor. A hologram of a popular music group was playing to an audience of no one. Apparently it was a slow time of the day for the establishment.

The two pirates walked across the room, looking about for their buyer. Pleff spotted the devaronian sitting with a muscular zabrak in a corner booth. He nudged Koravin to get his attention and they approached the booth.

Lokil and his bodyguard stood as the pirates approached, the devaronian raising a glass to them.

"Greetings my feeorin friend," Lokil said. "Did you not order a drink?"

"Hmph," Koravin answered. "Not in the mood."

"They have the most magnificent wheat ale from dantooine. I've never been able to get it anywhere else."

"You don't own the place?"

"Oh no," Lokil said, shaking his head. "I'm friends with the owner. About as stylish as you could ask for on a world like this, am I right?"

"Perhaps. Is each floor different?"

"Indeed. Upstairs is the gaming room, and above that a smoking lounge," Lokil said, closing his eyes with imaginary pleasure.

"I'd rather tie my tendrils in knots than smoke anything in this dry air," Koravin complained.

"Ah, I forgot. Your whole crew is aquatic, is it not?"

"More or less. Can we get down to business?"

"Of course, of course," Lokil said with a smile. He sat, although his bodyguard remained standing. Koravin followed suit, with Pleff mirroring the bodyguard.

Koravin slid a data cube across the table. Lokil picked it up and thumbed the side. A holo projection of the _Opal Pulse's_ manifest appeared.

"Looks official. I have men at the spaceport who can check out the product," Lokil informed him.

"Men? Only one is walking aboard _my_ ship at a time. I hope they know what they are looking at."

"They, ahem, he, is sufficiently informed. Let me call him." Lokil reached down under the table, causing Koravin to tense up. But when his hand came back into view he was holding a comm.

Lokil called his man, pausing to ask which bay the _Blackpool Flier_ was berthed in. Koravin told him the bay number, and pulled his own comm from his vest pocket. "This is the Captain. Let Mr. Lokil's man onboard to look at the cargo."

"Assuming he confirms what you've told me of this product is accurate, I have to ask. Where did you find it? Or more importantly, who did you find it on?"

Koravin didn't like revealing where he had scored his booty. He considered it proprietary information, but in this case he couldn't refuse.

"A ship called the _Opal Pulse_. It was en route to the Anoat sector," he answered.

"And who did the shipment belong to?"

"A Hutt named 'Poualiac'."

Lokil shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his facade of confidence faltering.

"You guaranteed me payment," Koravin warned him.

"Yes, I suppose I did," Lokil agreed reluctantly. "Well, obviously I don't walk around with one hundred and fifty thousand credits on my person. The basement has a suite of apartments, surprisingly nice, if you are looking for a place to stay. Let me head down and retrieve your credits." Lokil made as if to leave.

"Stay," Koravin said.

"Excuse me?" Lokil asked nervously.

"Send another of your men to retrieve it. And besides, the other one hasn't checked in yet. You would pay me without securing your product?"

"Well, I…" Lokil broke off when Koravin suddenly stood. The pirate pulled his blaster with stunning speed, placing the barrel underneath the chin of the zabrak bodyguard.

"What is going on?" Koravin asked with a snarl.

"When you told me about the sea killers I made inquiries of my own. I was curious who you could have nicked them from. My inquiries were...noticed."

"You sold me out?" Koravin asked, almost shouting. Pleff pointed his blaster carbine at the bodyguard, who had his hands raised in a signal of surrender. Koravin shifted his blaster pistol and pointed it at Lokil instead.

"No, of course not," Lokil pleaded. "The Hutts just showed up on their own. My informants may have leaked my location. Such a rare product, you should have never called about it remotely."

"They're here already?" Koravin asked, a fearful tinge creeping into the anger of his tone.

"Yes. If you run now you may make it. I haven't told them when you were coming, but I'm sure they have spies. Dump the cargo container and they may let you go."

"I'm not dumping…"

Suddenly the sound of blaster fire erupted from down stairs.

"Karking murglak," Koravin shouted. He shifted his aim and shot the Zabrak point blank in the face, the back of the bodyguard's skull showering the wall and Lokil in blood and gore.

Lokil screamed and ducked for cover. Or fainted, Koravin wasn't sure.

"Let's go," Koravin shouted, running for the stairs. Pleff bent down, retrieved the blaster pistol the bodyguard had never got the chance to draw, and followed his captain into battle.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Half-stock sat in the cockpit of her cloakshape fighter, which she had nicknamed ' _Radioactive Mynock'_ in her own head. Technically the fighter belonged to Koravin, and he hadn't bothered naming their fighters, and no one else knew of her fighter's nickname. Half-stock had her Nautalan head tendrils tied back behind her, draping them over the back of her cockpit flight chair. She wore a makeshift flight helmet she had designed herself, chopping up one made for a human and attaching the armor plates to a nerf leather cap. It primarily offered protection for her forehead and temples. Her tendrils got in the way of any rear skull protection. A pair of goggles were attached to the front of the helmet on a hinge, currently flicked up.

Her fighter was attached to the one of the docking ports on the underside of the _Blackpool Flier._ The other pilot, a Quarren named Cutter, was in his own Cloakshape. His was docked facing the bridge, while the nose of her ship faced the cargo bay.

She had been sitting there almost forty five minutes, waiting for any sign of trouble from Koravin and the assault team. She didn't expect any. These drop offs rarely went wrong. For one, very few people wished to anger heavily armed pirates. Secondly, Koravin was good about knowing when take a deal that was good enough, rather than getting greedy and falling out of favor with their black market buyers.

Suddenly a bit of static from the comm interrupted the silence inside of her cockpit.

"This is Reemo, I'm with Mr. Lokil. I'm here to check the product," came a voice through the comm. The channel to the _Flier's_ bridge was open to the whole crew, so everyone knew what was going on.

"This is the Captain. Let Mr. Lokil's man onboard to look at the cargo," came the confirmation.

Half-stock felt a slight vibration in her fighter as the cargo bay doors lowered. Out of boredom she flicked some switches on her control panels, turning on her fighter's scanners. She was merely looking to see if any large freighters were coming in to port, which she could possibly mark in order to serve as future raid opportunities.

She gasped in surprise when over a dozen small blips lit up on her screen, surrounding the docking bay. They appeared to be small combat droids, similar to the ones the Empire used as remote scouts.

"This is Half-stock, emergency. We are surrounded," she shouted into her comm.

"Get the bay doors back up," one of the Neelabi twins shouted through the comm. The distant sound of a blaster shot, muffled by the transparisteel cockpit of Half-stock's fighter, reverberated. She lowered her head, squinting at the narrow view her position under the belly of the ship afforded her.

A body was thrown from the back of the cargo bay. She guessed it was Mr. Lokil's inspector. Suddenly a volley of blaster fire erupted from the entrance of the hangar, stray shots blasting dirt and bouncing it off the canopy of her fighter. A smattering of return fire flew from the back of the ship.

"Youngest sister is down," one of the twins shouted. "We can't get to the control panel."

"Close the door from the bridge," Half-stock suggested. The blaster fire was getting heavier. Their assailants had set up a tripod mounted blaster cannon.

"They've hit the hydraulics," Opuk said from the _Flier's_ bridge. "We can't lower it remotely.

Half-stock activated her ship, feeling the familiar and satisfying vibrations of her engines as they roared to life behind her. She armed her weapons systems but couldn't get a targeting vector. The space between the ground and the belly of the _Flier_ left her with too narrow a field of fire.

"We need to take off so we can provide covering fire," Cutter informed the bridge.

"Negative," Half-stock said, shaking her head. "They have droids above the spaceport. They will cut the ship to pieces."

"Well, I can't take off like this," Cutter almost shouted back at her.

"I can," Half-stock muttered to herself. She fired her repulsors and dialed them down to forty percent thrust. Next she cut the docking attachment to her fighter.

The cloakshape dropped from the _Flier_ and almost struck the ground. She had only a few millimeters of clearance when her fighter bounced back up. She quickly dialed down the repulsors to thirty percent, and her ship settled into an equilibrium.

A light push to her left thruster, increasing its power, caused her ship to rotate to the right. This threw her fighter out of balance, and the left wing tipped up. It scraped against the hull of the _Flier_ as she carefully maneuvered sideways. A high pitched screech cut into her cockpit, as if her fighter was crying out in pain.

A cloud of formosian dust, kicked up by the thrusters and her repulsor cushion, enveloped her as she slid out from under the _Flier._ Their attackers must've realized the pirates had launched something, for their wildly aimed blaster fire penetrated the cloud of dust, most of it missing or glancing off the shields of her fighter.

Half-stock kept her eyes upward. Her vision was obscured by the same dust cloud that protected her, but she watched for the shadow of darkness underneath the _Blackpool Flier_ to pass. When the light penetrating the cloud brightened she pushed her repulsors to the maximum. The fighter shot upwards, launching out of the dust cloud.

Within the space of a second the hangar bay around the pirate ship became visible. Over a dozen assailants had fanned out in front of the exit. Their tripod was set up underneath a support column.

The dust cloud pushed outward, blown by the increased power of her ascent, a billowing cloud that obscured the enemy. But the muzzle flashes of their weapons were still visible. Half-stock opened up her cannons. The sound of the Cloakshape's pair of blasters erupted like a thunderclap inside the confines of the hangar, each shot reverberating like a punch to the chest.

The permacrete wall of the hangar exploded in her initial volley, showering the enemy in chunks of rock and debris. The gas canister of the tripod blaster cannon's ammunition was crushed by a huge chuck of duracrete and exploded, throwing shrapnel in all directions. Blood vapor mixed with the dust hovering throughout the hangar, turning into a cloud of wet mist. Half-stock halted her fire, allowing the dust to settle. Bits of the enemy that had avoided being crushed by the permacrete were scattered across the bay, in pieces.

A powerful shot splashed against her shield, causing an alarm to sound inside her cockpit. The blast had come not from the ground, but from above. She raised her ship's nose and spotted one of the droids drifting in front of the control tower.

She fired away, with no regard to collateral damage. The shot from her left cannon struck a droid, blasting it into a cloud of metal shrapnel. The other shot struck directly into the viewport of the tower. The communications array on top of the tower exploded as the roof of the tower collapsed, further showering the hangar with debris.

Another warning from her fighter sounded as her ship took fire from behind. She did not have the space to rotate her ship so she punched her thrusters to the maximum, shooting fighter forward at a steep angle.

The droids surrounding the bay fired at her but the fighter had accelerated too quickly, their shots passing harmlessly in her wake. She kept her fighter flying upwards and then turned it in a wide curve. Below her the spaceport and the city around it stretched outwards. There were about a dozen of the droids around the _Flier's_ hangar, and her scanners warned her of another ship. She spotted it hovering several hundred meters above the spaceport. It appeared to be a small frigate. She guessed it had deployed the combat droids.

But she hadn't needed to guess. A quad cannon mounted underneath the frigate fired at her, missing wildly, the stray shot blasting into an apartment building. She flew upwards, above the horizontal plane of the frigate and out of the turret's field of fire.

Once again she opened up her cannons. She continually pumped shots into the frigates rear shields as she approached. The shields held up until the last second. Just as she flew past the frigate her last pair of shots struck its aft engine. It exploded, sending the frigate into a tumble. Suddenly Half-stock realized that she may have made a mistake.

The frigate had been in a dead hover above the spaceport, with no forward momentum. And so, after its engines exploded and the ship lost power, it fell downwards. Picking up speed, it seemed to be falling directly towards the _Blackpool Flier._

She watched as cannon fire blasted out of the _Flier's_ hangar bay as her crewmates were targeted the droids who had drifted into their field of view. The enemy frigate tumbled down and struck the permacrete wall between their hangar bay and the next one over in the circular spaceport. The frigate's nose crumbled, arcs of electricity blasting outwards. The rear section exploded in an enormous fireball, parts of the remaining engines shot outwards and struck the control tower, which crumbled over sideways. The falling tower toppled over onto the frigate, just as it began to tumble towards the _Flier's_ hangar. Instead of striking her friends, the weight of the tower's remains pulled the frigate in the opposite direction. The remains of the tower and the frigate fell into the neighboring bay, striking a spice freighter.

Half-stock had now flown past the spaceport, her attention distracted by the spectacular crash. She felt the shock wave rattle her fighter as a secondary explosion, from the spice freighter's bay, rocked the spaceport. She turned her fighter back in a tight turn and flew back towards the spaceport. The _Blackpool Flier_ was rising out of its bay, its cargo doors still more than half down.

"You guys alright?" Half-stock asked.

"Barely, what in the karking hells was that?" Kellash answered.

"Just cleaning up out here," Half-stock answered with a smile.

Another voice cut into her comm. "This is Koravin, we are under fire, what is your status? I heard an explosion." Half-stock's navigation system pinged the location of her captain's comm on her scanners. She looked out over the city and instantly spotted the Black Spike cantina.

"We're fine Captain, airborne," Kellash answered.

"Get over here, we need covering fire," Koravin shouted. Half-stock could hear blaster fire in the background, over the comm.

"On it captain," Half-stock answered. As she flew overhead she spotted a pair of armored land speeders outside of the cantina. Mercenaries, similar in number to the ones that had attacked the spaceport, were firing into the cantina. She was about to get into an attack vector when her comm interrupted her.

"Half-stock, Cutter is away. But we got company. The locals have dispatched their fighters. They probably aren't with these other guys, but after what you did to their spaceport, they aren't gonna care," Kellash said. "We will take care of those guys on the ground."

"On it," Half-stock said. She turned her fighter and gained elevation. She extended her scanners and spotted three t-shaped clone wars era V-19 torrent fighters coming in her direction. She adjusted her shields full forward and increased her thrust. It was time for a real fight.

oOoOo

Koravin stopped at the last pair of stairs and threw his back against the wall of the stairwell. Below him was the ground floor of the Black Spike Cantina. Smoke from blaster fire blanketed the room with a thick veil of fog. Most of the furniture in the room was wrecked and a small fire burned behind the long bar.

Koravin ran onto the floor, ducking as a stray shot sizzled past his head tendrils with Pleff following behind him. As he ran he spotted Walaa sitting with her back against the bar, holding her blaster pistol up in one hand and peering out towards the exit.

Another blaster shot flew past just as Koravin hit the floor. He came to a stop beside his crewman. "What in the karking hells happened?" Koravin asked, shouting to be heard over the sounds of battle.

"We were just sitting there, watching the entrance," Walaa answered. "Then these guys came in, mercs, didn't say nothing. Just started shooting."

"Is anybody hit?" Koravin asked.

"Yeah," she answered sadly. "Saruush took one in the chest before we could get our guns up. He's gone."

"The sisters?"

"I think they are okay," she answered. Koravin looked across the room. He could barely make out the form of an overturned table through the smoke. Blaster fire was erupting regularly from behind it. He felt Pleff kneeling down behind him.

"Do you have any grenades?" Koravin asked his first mate.

"I always bring grenades," Pleff smiled and retrieved two of yellow plasteel balls from his utility belt. Koravin took them from him and then surveyed the room, or at least as much of it as he could make out.

"Walaa, cover the back rooms behind the bar. There could be a back entrance to this place. Pleff, cover the entrance from the other side," Koravin ordered, gesturing towards the right hand side of the doorway, opposite of the sister's position.

"What are you going to do?" Pleff asked.

"I'm going to find out what kind of firepower they got out there." Koravin waited until a lull appeared in the amount of blaster fire streaming into the cantina and then took off in a crouched sprint, as fast as he could go.

Something heavy, a piece of the ceiling, struck him as he ran, knocking him to the floor just as a large shot streamed through the space his body had only just occupied. The shot struck the back wall, blowing it open. It was not the kind of shot that could come from a hand-held weapon.

Koravin wiped some blood from his forehead and got back to his feet. He ran towards the stairs, taking the steps three at a time. He reached the second floor quickly, finding it was mostly untouched, although indirect fire was begin to punch through the walls. He paused, getting his bearings. Lokil was hiding underneath the table in the booth Koravin had left him under. The devaronian spotted Koravin and attempted to crawl away behind the cover of a neighboring booth.

Despite the pleasure it would bring him to end his life, Koravin was not interested Lokil at the moment. Instead he ran over to the wall, the floor shaking beneath him. He grabbed a table and threw it out of the way, his enormous strength sending it flying. He jumped onto the booth, behind the space for the table against the wall, pausing to think.

He armed the grenade and sat it into the space behind the booth. He turned and ran, falling to the floor just as the grenade exploded. Debris showered him, followed by a cloud of smoke. But when the smoke cleared the pale light of Formos' sun shone through the hole he had blown into the cantina's outer wall.

The hole was just above the entrance on the floor below. Koravin crawled over to the hole and peered out, his back against the charred remains of the booth. Outside he could see a pair of armored landspeeders with blaster cannons mounted atop their canopies. They were manned by a pair of canine-faced Klatoonian mercenaries. So that was the source of the overpowered blaster fire.

Besides the speeder he spotted an armored troop carrier parked between a pair of buildings across the street. There were over a dozen mercenaries, representing most of the Hutt slave species, arrayed between the speeders and the carrier, crouched in strategic positions so they could fire into the cantina.

Koravin maneuvered his body against the booth so none of the mercenaries could get a clear shot at him and palmed his remaining grenade, preparing to trigger the arming mechanism. Suddenly an enormous explosion rocked the cantina, and for a split second he thought the mercenaries had fired a rocket into the establishment.

And then he realized the sound echoed from a distance. From the spaceport.

He placed the grenade carefully beside him, so that it would not roll away, and retrieved his comm.

"This is Koravin, we are under fire, what is your status? I heard an explosion," he said, attempting to reach his crew who had stayed behind on the ship. He feared the worst.

"We're fine Captain, airborne," came an answer. He recognized the voice of the Kellash. The momentary lull following the distant explosion expired, and the mercenaries began firing once again into the cantina. Koravin could smell smoke, and realized grimly that the entire building was beginning to catch fire. They wouldn't be able to hold out much longer.

"Get over here, we need covering fire," he shouted. A blaster shot struck the booth above him, raining hot debris onto his head. The mercenaries had spotted him. He quickly put the comm back in his pocket and grabbed the grenade. He waited until another shot struck and then leaned out over the hole.

He wrenched his arm as hard as he could, flicking the arming switch and throwing the grenade. He immediately withdrew, but not before a shot struck him in the shoulder.

The blast sent him spinning, throwing him backwards onto the floor. He screamed as all of the nerves in his body cried out in burning pain.

He felt a blast shake his body as the grenade he threw outside exploded, but it failed to register in his mind. He felt only pain, saw only the twisted wreckage of the dance floor, and smelled only the horrible scent of his own burning flesh.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Blaster fire whizzed past Half-stock's cockpit, melting part of the transparisteel glass that separated her from the upper atmosphere of Formos. The security force pilots that were attempting to shoot her down were flying V-19 Torrents, leftover fighters from the Clone Wars. The t-shaped vessels were well armed, and Half-Stock was outnumbered, three to one. But she knew how they would attempt to gun her down. One of fighters would try to engage her directly while the other two flanked her from above and shot her down while she was distracted.

She knew that on a world like this the locals had probably hired former pirates, or possibly smugglers, to run security. It was a gig she had thought about doing herself some day. She didn't want to be a pirate forever. She banked her Cloakshape fighter into a hard turn, as the enemy pilot facing her did the same. The enemy fired off a couple of wild shots as they flew above the city. The two fighters flew at the opposite sides of an invisible circle, their banking too steep for either one to gain a shot. But unlike the security pilot, Half-stock was unwilling to fire off randomly. She preferred to save her energy for when she knew she would hit something.

Suddenly she bailed out of the circle, tumbling over into a barrel roll. Her instincts served her well...a volley of blaster fire from above filled the air her fighter would have occupied if she had continued her previous course.

She halted her roll and lost altitude, coming out of her dive just meters from the tallest rooftops of the city. All three of the enemy V-19's followed from above, but for some reason they refrained from firing on her. They could have shot her down...and then she got it.

 _They live in this city. If they fire wildly at me and miss, they would possibly be blowing up their own homes. Or the homes of their friends._ She would use their reluctance against them.

"Cutter where are you?" She couldn't spare a glance at her sensor screen. A single distraction could send her into one of the communications relays that poked out from the rooftops. Or allow one of the enemy fighters to get directly behind her and shoot her down.

"Escorting the _Flier,"_ came Cutter's response over her comm. "Two mercenary medium freighters on our tail." She cut her fighter into a sharp turn, flying between two blocks of buildings and kicking up an enormous cloud of dust from the street, which streaked by just meters below the belly of her fighter.

Her route had taken her south of the ruined spaceport, which was still smoldering and belching out a column of thick black smoke. But she was now flying in a northern direction, just above one of the main thoroughfares in the city. The dust cloud her fighter kicked up was obscuring her from incoming fire enough that she could glance at her instruments and get a better feel for the situation. North of her, and to the east, was the cantina. The _Flier_ had just completed a pass over the three story building, its laser turrets blanketing the street with fire. Explosions and clouds of shrapnel, undoubtedly from the armored speeders that had her friends pinned, flew into the sky.

Suddenly one of the V-19's got a little bolder. A stray shot, fired from above, struck her left wing, punching through her shields and nearly sending her into an uncontrollable spin.

"Okay, that's enough," she growled. She pitched her fighter up and killed her speed. One of the V-19's, oblivious of her maneuver due to the dust cloud, continued on. She waggled her fighter, pitching along her vertical axis until she got the nose of her fighter down.

She squeezed her trigger, sending out a stream of deadly energized plasma. The shots struck the enemy fighter in the rear, punching through its shields. The engines burst into flames, sending it tumbling. So close to the ground, it took only an instant for the ship to strike the surface, the cockpit crumpling into the street. The explosion sent shrapnel raining into the nearby buildings, while bits of the fighter continued to bounce down the street for hundreds of meters.

Half-stock didn't have time to admire the explosion. After burying her shots into the enemy she immediately jammed her stick to the left and pushed her accelerator to the max. She could feel her fighter's engines straining at her maneuver. While she was protected somewhat from the g-forces by her ship's inertial compensator, she was still pushed back into her seat.

One of the remaining V-19's flew past her, only able to get off a glancing blow that struck her wing while his friend still crashed and burned. The shot triggered alarms in her cockpit, which cried out in a deafening crescendo.

"Shut up!" she yelled, flipping a couple switches and silencing the alarms. She put her fighter into a steep climb, rising vertically through the thin atmosphere. She spared a glance at her flight computer, which told her that her right blaster cannon was offline.

The V-19 on her tail was rising in a spiral, firing off wild shots every time his vector brought her within view. _Amatuer._

The pulled her flight stick back, looping over backwards in a u-turn and back towards the surface. She found the _Blackpool Flier_ and Cutter on her sensors. They were taking lazy figure eights over the city, the two freighters flying a similar but opposite course. The four ships had just taken a pass at each other, one of the _Flier's_ turrets nailing one of the cylindrical freighters, rocking the ship and sending black smoke billowing from it.

For a moment Half-stock felt a moment of panic, as there was only one V-19 on her tail. She had no idea where the other fighter was. _That kind of poor awareness could get me killed_. And then she found it on her sensors. It was high in the atmosphere, above the _Blackpool Flier_ and Cutter.

"Cutter, watch out, there is a security fighter on you," she yelled into her comm. Cutter was focused on one of the mercenary freighters, pumping a volley of shots into and causing it to abandon another run on the _Flier._

The V-19 hit him from above, burying a trio of shots on target. The first two of which were deflected by his shields. But third shot got through, striking directly into his cockpit. She knew he was killed instantly, and could see his fighter tumbling through the atmosphere like a leaf blown on the wind.

She watched the blip of Cutter's ship on her sensors as it slowly fell and slammed into a building.

"Damn," she yelled, bringing her shoulders forward and then slamming her body backwards into her flight chair. She wobbled her fighter side to side, avoiding a volley from the V-19 still trying to turn her into a heap of burning wreckage, just like what had become of her wingmate. She juked to the left, faking that she would turn and head back towards the ground. The enemy bought it, filling that empty bit of atmosphere with blaster fire.

Instead she pitched up into a loop, killing her speed and bringing her above the enemy. The V-19 bailed out, knowing she was trying to get on its tail. The t-shaped fighter spun and banked right.

She abandoned her earlier discipline, firing a couple shots even though she wasn't able to line up the V-19 in her sights. Her shots missed forward, the volley passing right before the fighter's nose. If her other cannon had still been online she would have scored hits. The V-19 dropped its speed and tried to bank in the other direction. The enemy fighter had a lot tighter turn radius than she did, so she let it go.

Instead of trying to stay behind him Half-stock increased her speed and continued forward. The two ships were now flying away from each other at a forty-five degree angle. She turned hard, flying upwards as the V-19 did the same. They were now pointed at each other.

Half-stock squeezed her trigger and held it down, sending out a constant stream of fire. The other fighter did the same. She compensated her aim, making up for the fact that she only had her left cannon, and drifted her fighter to the right. She struck the enemy fighter dead center, causing it to burst. But it struck her as well.

One shot sheared her tail fin in two, while another struck the belly of her fighter. She felt hot shrapnel bury itself into her legs, and felt her body get ripped around in turbulence as the transparisteel windshield tore itself away from the cockpit.

Her ship was tumbling end over end. Despite the searing pain threatening to envelop her, she gritted her teeth and leaned forward. Her ship had lost all power, knocking out every system, including the inertial compensator. She strained against her restraints, fighting the g-forces that now whipped her around. She almost welcomed the dizziness, but recognized that the black filling her vision would soon fill her existence if she gave up.

Half-stock reached out, blindly, until she felt the lever for her ejection seat. She pulled it back with everything she had, until she felt an explosion rock her body from below. As her flight chair flew up and away from her doomed fighter, she finally allowed herself to pass out.

oOoOo

Lokil watched from beneath a table as Koravin tossed his grenade out onto the street. A moment later a blaster shot struck the pirate in the shoulder. The devaronian cursed his stupidity. He should've taken more care not to alert the owner of Koravin's lifted shipment, Piouliac the Hutt. The Hutt lord had obviously sent his subordinates out to monitor the black market holonet, waiting until Lokil sent out inquiries. He just had no idea that the Hutt would be so swift and so bold.

As an explosion rocked the cantina Lokil wondered why in the galaxy the slimy Hutt hadn't waited until the pirates had gone into space before attacking. But he knew he had to act, unless he wanted to be dead along with Koravin's gang.

Fighting his instincts, which told him to continue hiding beneath his table, Lokil crawled over to Koravin, who was laying on his back, apparently passed out.

"Are you still alive?" Lokil asked, looking over the wound. The shot had nearly separated the pirate's arm from his torso. Lokil's nose curled up in disgust, as blood always caused him to feel nauseous. He reached over and put a finger beneath Koravin's chin. He could still feel a pulse, although it was weak.

A stray blaster shot ripped through the floor from below, missing Lokil by centimeters. The dark skinned devaronian hauled Koravin backwards until he could get his shoulder underneath him. He stood and walked backwards, straining under Koravin's weight. He made it to the stairs as the floor around him began to crumble and bits of ceiling fell to the floor. The flames were beginning to envelop the building.

Lokil maneuvered Koravin down the wide set of stairs. They reached the ground floor, where a handful of the pirates still survived. The twi'lek bartender was scattering flame retardant, attempting to keep the inferno at bay, even as the building began to crumble. Pleff spotted Koravin and Lokil, a look of horror and rage flashing across the Mon Calamari's face.

Lokil carefully hauled Koravin over to the back of the bar. Or what was left of it. He had only just placed Koravin onto the ground when he felt someone grab him by the shirt and haul him backwards.

"What did you do?" Pleff shouted. He placed his blaster underneath Lokil's chin.

"You think I would call this down onto my own head? I had no idea they were coming!"

"I mean what did you do to the captain?"

Lokil put his hands up in a signal of innocence. "I did nothing. He was shot and I grabbed him."

Pleff seemed about to pull the trigger on his blaster, and blow off Lokil's head, when his comm unit chimed, its volume maxed out in order for it to be heard over the noise of battle.

"This is the _Blackpool Flier,_ if anyone is still alive down there grab some cover. Danger close inbound."

"Get down!" Pleff shouted. He threw Lokil aside and covered Koravin with his own body. Outside came a series of massive explosions, like the sound of rolling thunder. The view from inside the bar was hazy, as the room was filled with smoke and fire. The remains of the bar shook as the _Flier,_ with Cutter following behind in his Cloakshape fighter, blanketed the street with fire from their blaster cannons. The mercenaries, completely absorbed with their battle with the pirates on the ground, were helpless.

Two of the armored speeders erupted in a shower of super-heated metal, wiping out the mercenaries around them in a cloud of smoke and blood. The front of the bar collapsed in the explosion, bringing down part of the roof.

Inside the bar Lokil coughed as he attempted to avoid breathing in the cloud of dust and smoke that permeated the building. The blaster fire coming in from the street had halted, although they were far from escaping danger yet.

He could hear footsteps approaching from across the room, although he could see only a handful of meters in front of himself. He grabbed Pleff by the shoulder.

"We have to get out of here! I know a secret way."

"Show us, and I might change my mind about killing you," Pleff answered back. Together they hauled Koravin to his feet, each one putting a shoulder beneath his arms.

The Elarza sisters emerged from the dust, each one dripping blood from their foreheads.

"Walaa?" Pleff asked.

They both shook their heads, their expressions a mix of anger and sorrow.

"This way," Lokil said, steering Pleff towards the back of the bar. They had to step over the body of the twi'lek bartender, who had been struck in the head by shrapnel. They stepped through a back room, and then proceeded down a short flight of stairs. The smoke was less thick here, and all of them began to breathe a little easier.

The group reached a narrow door, which was locked by a security terminal. Lokil motioned one of the sisters to take his place, exchanging his position propping up the unconscious pirate captain with her.

He typed in a series of commands through the keypad, which responded by chiming in acceptance. The door, reinforced from their side by durasteel plates, folded out. The thick smoke inside the hall was pushed back by an influx of fresh air. Pleff was about to stepped out when Lokil held him back.

"Wait a moment," Lokil said. He turned from the doorway and groped around the wall, finding a recess. He pulled out a small medical kit. "Lay him on the ground."

Pleff and Elarza laid Koravin down, allowing Lokil to begin wrapping the pirate's wound with gauze. After finishing the wrap he sprayed the bandage with a special sealant.

"Okay, get him up." Pleff seemed displeased at taking orders but obeyed. They stepped out into the alleyway.

Debris littered the space between the Black Spike cantina and the neighboring building, which had caught fire as well during the battle. The group began to move towards the street when Lokil grabbed Pleff by the arm.

"No, this way," he shouted over the sound of the fire.

"Why should we trust you?" Pleff shouted back.

"This Hutt death squad has killed my friends as well as yours. They would've killed me along with you!" Lokil answered.

The sound of a fighter passing overhead, one that belonged to the local security, drowned out any immediate response Pleff could muster.

"We should follow him," the other the sister, the one not helping to carry Koravin, suggested. "And if he tries anything, shoot him," she added, gesturing with her rifle towards Lokil.

"Fine, fine!" Lokil agreed, raising his hands in a display of helplessness.

Together the group, followed Lokil through the alley and away from the burning cantina.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Lokil led the group through the city, heading north through the backstreets and away from the burning wreckage of the cantina. The sounds of emergency sirens and fireteams screamed all around them, and the ground shook after a mercenary freighter, falling out out of the sky and trailing smoke, impacted with the ground a few blocks over. He paused, hiding behind a durasteel crate as a team of security officers came running past on the street. The others knelt down behind him, trying to stay out of view.

"...whas goin…" Koravin mumbled.

"Captain!" one of the Elarza sisters exclaimed. "He's awake."

"Careful with him!" Pleff ordered as they lowered their captain to the ground.

"...wher' wu?" Koravin asked, his speech slurred and hard to understand.

"Outside of the cantina," Pleff answered.

"Wheres da scumbag?"

"I'm here," Lokil answered, smiling.

"Should we kill him?" Pleff asked.

"Hey! I'm trying to get your people out of here alive!" Lokil exclaimed as the other sister grabbed him.

"Heh...this isn't just 'is fault," Koravin said. "Shoulda not commed ahead. Shoulda been more careful witha hutt's…" He broke off mid-sentence, listening as the _Blackpool Flier_ passed overhead, one of the mercenary freighters still on its tail. "Where we goin?"

"I'm taking them to the spaceport. I've got a ship there," Lokil answered.

"The spaceport?! The spaceport is wrecked!" the sister yelled.

"Well, I didn't know that!" Lokil shouted back.

"What did you think that billowing smoke was coming from?" Pleff yelled.

"Shut it!" Korvain shouted, cutting off both of them. He began to cough uncontrollably, blood dripping from his mouth. "We need go to a security station…" he finally got out.

"A security station?" Pleff asked. "Why there? They'll shoot us immediately."

"Ah, I think I know," Lokil said with a nod. "They have ships there, with their own landing pad."

"We won't ever get in there," the older sister shook her head. "We can't fight the security forces."

"... _Flier…_ " Koravin said, pointing up into the sky as their ship went past once again, green blaster fire streaming from the pirate vessel like a firework shooting sparks as it flew through the air.

oOoOo

Thom Gorono did not have a difficult job. Not on most days. He was the security chief of Formos, a spaceport whose chief export, hallucinogenic spice from Kessel, was illegal. And so he earned his pay by having his men collect bribes and look the other way for their efforts. Ships were not inspected on Formos. Weapons regulations ignored. The Imperials were aware of the illegality of the operation of course, but looked the other way as well. The Imperial sector government was a concept rather than a reality this far out in the Outer Rim.

And so, when a vengeful hutt decided to unleash his full might upon one of the most dangerous pirate gangs in the sector, chaos had ensued. His entire security force consisted of a handful of platoons meant to keep the petty crime at a tolerable level and a half squadron of outdated Clone Wars era fighters, piloted by former pirates who often targeted the ships they were supposed to protect. They weren't equipped to fight a war.

Gorono sat hunkered down in his office, listening to the sounds of distant explosions as ships fell out of the sky. His comm unit was ringing constantly, a mix of cries for help and angry calls expressing that this was all his fault coming from the populace.

"Get the Imperials on the horn!" he shouted, trying to get his secretary, who was hiding under his desk just as he was, to do something helpful.

"You know just as I do they wouldn't show up for hours, even if I did call them!" the secretary yelled back.

"Well, they will never show up if you don't ever call them in the first place!" he yelled back.

"The holonet comm is in _your_ office!" the secretary retorted, dust falling from the ceiling as a distant explosion shook the building.

He was about to come up with something clever to say in return when the sound of blaster fire striking the side of the building interrupted him. _Now what?!_

He crawled from his office on his hands and knees until he arrived behind the same desk his secretary was hiding under. He peeked around the corner, spotting a handful of his officers towards the front of the security office. They were armed with heavy blaster rifles, but were hiding behind their owns desks, not putting the rifles to any good use. More shots poured in, seemingly at random. "Shoot back!" Gorono ordered.

"I don't get paid for this," one of the officers answered, shaking his head negatively.

"Shoot back or I'll shoot you myself," Gorono yelled, although he was not carrying a blaster. The effect of his threat seemed to work, however, as several of the officers crept towards the front of the building. The blaster fired had slowed, and seemed to now be directed mostly towards the second story.

One of the officers peered through one of the shattered windows. "It's only a couple of guys," he said.

"Just a couple?" Gorono repeated, his eyes widening. He had feared that half of the Hutt's mercenaries had camped outside of his office. "Get out there and take them down!"

"Let's frag these scum," one of the officers agreed, his fear turning into overconfident anger.

"I got you covered," the officer near the window said. He placed his rifle atop the windowsill and began opening up with a constant stream of blaster fire. The other officers gathered near the front door and then poured out, shouting aloud the best battle cries they could summon.

Seconds later a horrific explosion struck the front of the building from above. The _Blackpool Flier_ unleashed a volley from each of its four quadlaser turrets, blanketing the front of the building and the street. The fearless officers streaming out to heroically confront their enemy were instantly vaporized, and the officers near the window and door screamed as the shockwave crushed their bodies.

The furniture inside the room was shoved backwards, throwing Gorono against the wall. The ceiling collapsed, crushing the secretary under his desk. Gorono's ears were ringing but he felt relatively unscathed. He got to his feet, shaking uncontrollably. He could see the distorted image of several figures climbing into the office. The dust and his disorientation prevented him from making them out, but he smiled nonetheless.

"Thank the stars you made it," he said with a smile. "Did any of the pirates get caught in the blast?"

"No, they did not," came a feminine but angry voice. Not the voice of one of his officers. The older Elarza sister grabbed Gorono by the shirt and shoved her blaster under his chin.

"Don't kill him," Koravin warned, his voice weak. He was held up by the other sister and Pleff, who were both looking around the wrecked carnage that was the security office.

"I know that," she hissed. "We need the security codes for your transports."

"My what?" Gorono asked. His shock and fear had rendered him borderline incoherent.

"The security codes for your transports!" she shouted, slapping him across the cheek with the back of her hand.

"Security codes?" He pointed weakly to his office, where the expensive holonet terminal could be seen through the doorway. "Use necklace..."

Elarza frowned and spotted the metallic chain he wore around his neck. She violently ripped it from his neck and released her grip on him, letting him fall to the ground. He passed out immediately.

The group moved through the wrecked building, passing through the central hall until they reached the rear entrance. They opened the security door with the key fob attached to the chief's necklace and stepped outside. Two ships sat on the landing pad, but they were not impressive.

"Your kidding…" Lokil sighed. The two ships were modified cargo haulers, designed for carrying ore. They were essentially durasteel boxes with wings, a cockpit, and two engines attached.

"It'll have to do," Pleff said. He pointed towards the ship that had slightly less rust. "Let's get going."

"Wait…" Koravin said, halting the group as the moved out onto the landing pad. "Put me in the other ship."

"Why?" Lokil asked.

"Captain…" Pleff said, his expression falling.

"Do it," Koravin said, shaking his head.

oOoOo

Poualiac the Hutt sat on the expansive bridge of his command ship in high orbit above Formos, observing the battle as it unfolded on the planet below. The crime lord was not pleased. A large and expensive holoprojector suspended from the ceiling depicted the battle going on below. The _Blackpool Flier_ , highlighted in green, was flitting over the city, locked in a struggle with two of Poualiac's mercenary freighters. One of the freighters took a direct hit from one of the pirate ship's quad turrets, causing one of its engines to overload and explode. The ship spiraled out of control and tumbled into a row of apartment buildings like a meteor, throwing debris in every direction and shaking the entire neighborhood.

Poualiac roared in anger and slammed his fist into the arm of this throne. His slaves in the crew pits below looked back nervously, fearing retribution from their master. "Why won't they die," the Hutt shouted.

Agarma, his neimoidian majordomo and former Trade Federation executive, approached his throne, bowing her head respectfully. "The fact that they have not fled reveals they have yet to retrieve their captain, my lord. If we can locate them we will yet succeed in achieving your revenge."

The Hutt lord groaned angrily. He had already expended far more resources in this battle than the pirates had stolen from him. The only way to escape this situation without becoming a laughingstock to his rival Hutt kajidic lords was to kill every last one of those pirates. He cared not for the destruction and death his attack had brought to the locals. If anything the devastation his retribution brought would give pause to anyone thinking of crossing him in the future.

"We knew where they were! They escaped!" he rumbled in Huttese. The image of his strike force that had surrounded that cantina being blasted apart from the air replayed through his mind. His bridge crew, and even Agarma herself, continued to sweat nervously as the battle continued. Pouliac, like many Hutts, often expressed his displeasure through executions. The room visibly grew less tense as the last of the pirate fighters was brought down, even if it was due to the actions of one of Formos' security ships.

"Wait, replay that," Agarma ordered. One of the technicians paused the live holoprojector feed and the rewound it to the moment the pirate fighter was struck in its head-on skirmish with the security fighter. She walked nearer to the projection until her face was nearly within the light itself. The image went back into motion and her multifaceted eye slits narrowed as she watched a flight chair rocket away from the rapidly disintegrating fighter. "The pilot ejected…" she pointed out aloud. She watched as the pilot descended into the city.

"Target the pilot's location with our cannons! Make them ash!" Pouliac commanded.

"My lord, our weapon systems are out of range, we must get closer…" Pouliac slapped a button on the arm of his throne and suddenly the twi'lek weapons officer began to convulse as blue lightning coursed through his body. He fell to the deck and died loudly, his voice reduced to a gurgling scream.

Despite the smoke from the corpse drifting across the bridge, and the sudden itching in her neck where she knew her master had implanted a shock device identical to the one that had killed the twi'lek, Agarma spoke up. "My lord, perhaps we should capture this pilot instead. Death is so instant...let your enemies see the diversity of the anguish your punishments can inflict."

Pouliac thought on Agarma's words, and found them pleasing. He had already expended the majority of the ground forces he had brought with him, but his elite guard were still aboard his flagship. "Yes," Pouliac nodded. "Summon my death squad, my killers, my head bashers, my..." Agarma got on her comlink, ignoring Pouliac as he continued to think of creative names for his elite hitmen, and a moment later a half dozen heavily armed soldiers, many of them former bounty hunters, arrived on the bridge.

"My lord," said Lomagar, a trandoshan warrior and leader of the group. He bowed his lizard-like head in deference before his master. "What service may we honor your magnificence with?"

"One of the pilots has been shot down in the city. We want them brought back alive," Agarma commanded.

"If this master's wish, we do," another of the squad said in broken basic, a canine-like Klatoonian named Moabis. She shifted the heavy repeating blaster she held against her shoulder, in an expression that betrayed her eagerness to get into action.

The squad bowed deeply before their lord and then exited the bridge. Pouliac began to relax...his favorite servants rarely let him down. Soon these pirate bottom feeders would feel his wrath.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Moabis gripped the loop which hung from the ceiling of the transport. The inertial dampeners in the vessel, a boxy converted ore hauler modified to serve as a dropship, did a poor job of protecting the crew from the turbulence caused by the craft entering the upper atmosphere of Formos. The claws on her canine-like digits dug into her palm, causing droplets of blood to fall upon her head.

Around her the rest of the Poualiac's elite hit squad was likewise trying to ride out the turbulence, occasionally barking at each other when they inevitably failed to gird themselves in one direction or the other, resulting in a collision with their squadmate. This made Moabis uncomfortable. As a klatooinian evolved from canine-like ancestors, she grew up in a tightly knit family pack. Even when she began service in the klatooinian military, which in reality was a mercenary army for the Hutts, she still served in units that functioned as well as perfectly organized packs. But that lifestyle had vanished once she had been 'elevated' into service for her Hutt-lord. These mercenaries fought and killed each other as much as they did their enemies. When the Nikto standing next to her nearly knocked her over she paid him no mind. In fact, she felt physical contact with one of her comrades was comforting.

"Et chu ta!" the nikto cried. He glared at Moabis angrily, seemingly turning the blame in her direction. Moabis felt the urge to reach for one of the many throwing knives she kept hidden in her military jumpsuit and jab it into the nikto's neck. Such a display would not result in repercussions from the rest of the squad or her Hutt lord. On the contrary, it would have improved her standing in terms of respect and fear. However, doing such a disloyal thing was against every behavior she had been raised to believe. Loyalty to one's pack and pack leader, which by extension applied to her Hutt-lord and his forces, was paramount.

The turbulence began to soften as the ship entered the atmosphere above the spaceport. There were no windows in the rear of the vessel, but if there were Moabis would have observed columns of smoke rising from the embattled city.

"We are over the target," the pilot announced. Moabis raised her automatic blaster rifle in preparation. The nikto next to her was armed with a flame-thrower, and many of the others in the squad were likewise armed with deadly and violent weapons. Moabis didn't know what the nikto intended to do with the flame-spewing weapon, as they had been strictly ordered to bring back the downed pirate back alive. The ship shook violently as it landed. The loading ramp descended, filling the interior of the transport with dust blown up from the dusty street.

Lomagar, a lizard-like trandoshan bounty-hunter and the overall leader of Pouliac's soldiers, was the first off the transport. He wore heavy battle armor that was scarred by numerous battles, and a cape made from the coat of a wookie he had killed in single combat. He swept his clone wars era dc-15 blaster rifle, which had a viciously serrated bayonet mounted under the barrel, across the street. He raised his hand and waved it forward, signalling the all-clear for the rest of the squad to exit the transport.

Moabis hurried out, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the relative brightness, compared to the interior of the ship, of the afternoon sun. She raised her rifle and scanned the street. An empty flight chair, with a trail of blood leading away from it, sat on its side in the center of the street, only a few meters away. There were two dead bodies lying in front of it. Slightly uphill a civilian firefighting team was attempting to subdue an inferno threatening to swallow an apartment complex. Groups of distressed families stood along the opposite side of the street, watching as their homes burned. They seemed oblivious to Moabis and the rest of the mercenaries.

The squad fanned out, each of them pointing their weapons in a different direction, covering every possible direction that an enemy might attack them from. Lomagar approached the flight chair, which was covered in blood. He kicked one of the dead bodies that lay before it with his foot. "Moabis," he called. "What do you think?"

She hurried over and smelled the air. "Much smoke, not sniffing well," she said in broken basic. "No track."

"What about the bodies?" he asked. She looked them over. They were both human, and both appeared to civilians. Each one was shot by a blaster, one in the chest and the other twice, through the leg and the back. There was an equipment locker lying open before them which contained much of the survival gear one would find in a downed fighter pilot's gear. Moabis walked around and looked at the bottom of the chair. It appeared as if the locker fit beneath it.

"She obviously went that way," said the nikto, pointing to the trail of blood and beginning to follow it without orders to do so.

"Wait!" Lomagar yelled. The nikto reluctantly delayed his pursuit.

"Pirate land, they take. Pirate shoot," Moabis announced.

Lomagar nodded in agreement at her assessment. "The target is armed. Wounded, but able to fight," he yelled loudly, in order to be heard clearly over the sound of the fire up the hill.

"She won't get far," the nikto shook his head.

"You go first then," Lomagar smiled. Although the gesture was meant to express amusement, he instead looked rather vicious, exposing his long rows of sharp teeth.

The nikto paused as he adjusted the settings on his flamethrower, and then took off down the alley. The rest of the squad followed, with Lomagar and Moabis taking up the rear.

oOoOo

Half-stock could feel something pulling at her, but she couldn't tell if the sensation was real or imagined until she heard voices.

"...she doesn't have anything…" She faintly remembered falling through the sky, tumbling uncontrollably to her certain death. The sensation of someone searching her body ceased.

"...check the trunk…" She remembered now the sudden shock she had felt as her flight chair's emergency escape system activated its thrusters, killing her descent speed and allowing her to survive the fall. She opened her eyes and found her vision blurry and indistinct. She reached up and felt her face...her fingers came away covered in the blueish blood of her species. There was an incredible pain coming from her legs, so she looked down to find pieces of shrapnel embedded in them. Seeing this almost made her pass out once again.

Instead she became angry. She had been shot down, but she was not dead. She reached into her boot and pulled out the small hold-out blaster she kept there. She sat up and focused her eyes with all her might until the two beings came into focus.

"...she has good gear, good thing she won't be needing it," one of them laughed. His laugh became a blood-filled gurgle when Half-stock's blaster shot punched through his lungs from behind.

His friend screamed and tried to run, but he clumsily tripped over the open trunk. Despite the swimming of her head and her blurry vision Half-stock was able to squint long enough to get the fleeing looter in her sights. She sighted down the barrel of her small blaster and fired. Her first shot went wide so she squeezed the trigger again, pulling her aim to the right. She heard a grunt followed by a cry of pain. She was forced to rely on that pleasing sound to satisfy her vengeance...her blurry vision rendered the looter a indistinct blob as he attempted to crawl away.

Half-stock leaned forward and shakily got to her feet, exiting her ejected flight chair. She stumbled over the dead body of the other looter and fell to her knees. It took her a moment to crawl over the corpse, which she now realized was a human, and get to the trunk. She used her free hand to rifle through the trunk until her fingers found a plasteel container. She felt the raised text on the side of the bottle, smiled, and flicked off the lid with her thumb. She dumped a half dozen of the blue pills contained within into her mouth and utilized the blood in her mouth to help swallow the medicine.

She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to resist the urge to sleep. The medicine worked quickly, and although it was only a temporary solution, it would have to suffice. She had taken over double the recommended dose in order to compensate for her sorry state. When she opened her eyes again the pain was largely gone, replaced by a numbness. Her vision quickly cleared, allowing her to see that the other looter was not dead.

"Hey…" she groaned laboriously. "I think you forgot something." She dropped the bottle onto the ground and rifled around the trunk until she pulled out a bandoleer holding four thermal detonators and three spare blaster clips. She slung the bandoleer over her shoulder and then pushed herself to her feet. With a significant limp she walked over to the human.

Her blaster shot had hit him in the back of the leg. She angrily stepped on his wound, causing him to scream in pain. His scream was cut short when she fired her blaster once again, this time burying a shot into his back. His scream stopped. Despite his apparent death she pulled the trigger again, but was forced to grimace when the tiny blaster only clicked in response. The miniature hold-out blaster packed the same punch as a full sized blaster, at the cost of only four shots per magazine.

"Lucky for you," she sighed. Suddenly she heard a sound coming from above, muffled by distance, but steadily growing louder. A transport was descending towards her and she recognized the ugly aesthetics of the blocky vessel. Only a Hutt would utilize such an affront to aerodynamics. "Unlucky for me."

She removed her foot from the dead man's leg and began to limp towards the nearest alley. She did not know where the rest of her gang was, or if they were even still on the planet. She was cut off. Alone. Hunted.

She moved as quickly as she could towards the alley and removed a grenade from the bandoleer. She made it around the corner of the building just as the loading ramp descended and a group of mercenaries stepped out. She glanced down and realized she was leaving a trail of blood. There would be no hiding from them.

"C'mon, come at me," she grimaced. She held out the bandoleer, ready to detonate the whole belt and take all of them down with her. But instead of hurrying after her they paused to discuss something.

She took the moment they gave her to limp through the alley. Up ahead there was another street. Through the dust and smoke she spotted a crowd of security personnel assisting an emergency response team outside of another burning building. She passed by an empty storage crate and paused long enough for the first of the mercenaries to enter the alleyway behind her. She thumbed the detonation trigger on one of the grenades and dropped it into the crate.

"Oops," she said with a grim smile.

oOoOo

Koravin watched as the other transport rose from the landing pad behind the security station. He knew that he would not be seeing any of them again as he coughed, his hand coming away with blood. He had lived a long life, even fought in the Clone Wars, but never had he regarded any group with which he had served as closely as he did his crew. If he was going to die he would do all he could to ensure their survival.

He slowly reached up and flicked the ignition switch on the control panel. The transport came to life, vibrating slightly due to the clumsy upkeep of the engines. He manipulated the controls, every movement deliberate and labored, and got the transport airborne. The ship slid sideways rather than gaining altitude, smashing into the side of the security station building. The second story collapsed accordingly, and Koravin managed a painful laugh. He wondered if that pathetic security chief was still alive under all that rubble.

He pulled back on the yoke, causing the ship to rise through the atmosphere. He leaned forward and peered through the transparisteel viewport at the city below. Smoke was rising throughout the city. He hadn't seen anything like it since his war days. Formos wouldn't soon forget what happened when someone had started a fight with the _Blackpool Fliers_.

The ship rose through the atmosphere until it reached orbit. He flicked on his scanners and stared at the holo-screen until he found the familiar signature of the _Blackpool Flier._ The other transport was docking with the old mon calamari corvette, a few Hutt gunships kept at bay by the _Flier's_ laser turrets.

As he watched the scanner he noticed several small blips racing towards his friends. He grimaced when he realized that the Hutt's were sending in reinforcements. Four Dunelizard starfighters, small mandalorian-built ships were closing in on them, shaped similarly to atmospheric fighter aircraft of old. No doubt they were Poualiac's personal fighter escort. He reached over and flicked on the comm unit, switching it to an unencrypted broadcast.

"This is dread Captain Koravin of the _Blackpool Flier_. I'm over here, you slimy unevolved pondscum. Come and get me." He turned his transport and began flying retrograde in the opposite direction of the other ships. After a moment's hesitation the dunelizard fighters broke off and began to speed towards him. He continued to examine his scanners until he found Poualiac's command ship. Even as the Hutt's fighters closed in on him he changed his transport's orientation, aiming it directly towards the Hutt frigate and pushing his accelerators to their meager maximum.

He didn't get far before he felt the ship shake under the impact of several blasts. Blue energy raced across his flight controls and the interior of the ship went dark. They were going to try and take him alive. He painfully rose from his flight chair and stumbled towards the passenger compartment. He grabbed the frame of the doorway between the two sections of the ship, steadying himself. He reached up and punched the ceiling, causing a standard issue tool box to drop to the floor. He knelt down and opened the box, removing a plasma torch.

"Come get me Poualiac," he said, igniting the torch and allowing its purple flame to light his way as he stumbled towards the transport's small engine compartment.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

An enormous explosion, exacerbated by the fuel tanks of the nikto's flame thrower, filled the alley. A couple of the leading mercenaries were thrown backwards through the air. Moabis bent down and hauled a rodian to his feet.

"Idiots," Lomagar roared. "I told you the pirate was dangerous!" A couple of blaster shots rang out from the front of the alley, missing high but causing bits of duracrete to fall upon the disoriented mercenaries. Moabis fired back just as the target ducked around the corner. "Go after her," he ordered, shoving a weequay out from behind the wooden box he was using for cover.

"Squad leader," Moabis said, getting the trandoshan's attention. She nodded down the gap between the two rows of buildings that broke off from the alleyway ahead of them.

Lamagar nodded. "The rest of you go that way," he said, motioning down the main alley that the target had fired at them from.

Out on the street Half-stock was limping across the street. There was another apartment building burning, a firefighting team attempting to contain the blast. A group of onlookers, likely residents watching their homes burn, were being held back by a squad of security personnel. Half-stock glanced at them and smiled. She moved up the street and then retreated back across, on the side she had come from. Leaning against the side of a building in order to minimize her chance of being spotted, she waited until the mercenaries tailing her emerged from the alleyway. They were being slightly more cautious this time after she had blown up the nikto.

She carefully aimed her blaster and fired. But she did not fire at her enemies. Instead the shot went just above the heads of the Formos security forces. They quickly reacted, pulling out their weapons and turning round. The first thing they spotted was not Half-Stock, who immediately crouched down after firing. No, the first thing they spotted were the half-dozen strong group of heavily armed mercenaries standing near the alleyway, looking around for the wounded pirate they thought must be nearby.

"You karking sithspawn!" one of the security officers shouted, aiming his blaster at the weequay. The mercenary was slow to respond, regarding the officer with curiosity rather than the appropriate amount of fear. The officer fired, striking the weequay in the chest and killing him instantly. The other mercenaries ducked for any available cover, which was minimal, and began firing back.

Half-stock limped away as casually as she could, a grin playing across her face. If it weren't for the immense amount of pain she were in she would be laughing hysterically. She moved up the street and away from the firefight, her thoughts beginning to dwell on how she would get offworld and rejoin her crew.

Suddenly a pair of mercenaries emerged from an alleyway ahead of her, a trandoshan and a klatoonian. Half-Stock's shock at their sudden appearance slowed her reaction for barely a second. Likewise the mercenaries were distracted at the sight of their comrades engaging in a firefight down the street. They didn't realize Half-stock was next to them until she fired a shot, which struck Lomagar on his armored shoulder pad.

Lomagar was knocked off his feet but Moabis reacted swiftly. She dropped to one knee and raised her blaster rifle, which was already preset to single-fire stun mode. A blue ring of energy erupted from her blaster, striking Half-Stock just as the nautalan fired her blaster. Half-stock's shot went above Moabis' head, striking harmlessly against the wall of the building behind them.

Half-stock fell as the stun shot paralyzed her nervous system. Despite her impending unconsciousness she raised her blaster, pointing it shakily at Moabis as the klatoonian approached.

"Sleeps, _pateesa_ ," Moabis said, knocking Half-stock's blaster away with the barrel of her rifle. "You fight enough for one day." Half-stock finally closed her eyes.

Lomagar got his feet behind her, and removed his damaged shoulder pad. He threw the smoking piece of armor aside and rubbed his shoulder, which was badly burned by Half-Stock's shot. He approached Half-Stock's body angrily, raising his blaster. But before he could fire into the helpless pirate's body Moabis interfered, stepping between them.

"Hutt lord wants alive," she said.

"Lord Poualiac will get the pirate scum alive, I'll just rough 'er up a bit," Lomagar snarled.

Moabis raised her heavy duty rifle until it was level with Lomagar's midsection. "Near death. You want disobey, get back stolen lizard pride, disobey." She stepped aside, allowing Lomagar a clear shot.

The trandoshan paused, torn between simmering anger that Moabis would dare question him, and the fact that deep down he knew the broken-basic speaking klatoonian was right. "Move," he shouted, shoving Moabis aside. She raised her rifle to fire upon him but hesitated as he walked past Half-Stock's body and towards the ongoing battle between their squad and the security officers.

Moabis exhaled, releasing her pent up tension as Lomagar charged towards the officers, firing his blaster with a gleeful rage. She threw her blaster rifle around her shoulder, allowing the shoulder strap to catch it. She bent down and place her hands underneath Half-Stock's armpits. With a grunt she lifted the nautalan and deposited Half-Stock upon her shoulders. With a spare glance at the firefight and her comrades, who had apparently completely forgotten the objective they were supposed be to achieving, she began hauling the unconscious pirate towards their dropship which had landed the next block over.

oOoOo

Poualiac's flagship cast a shadow over Koravin's transport as it was towed inwards towards the hangar by the tractor beams. The ship was the size of a large frigate, incapable of standing up to an Imperial star destroyer but looming large over most civilian starships. The hull was painted a dull grey, almost like the color of stone. It was shaped like a sail-barge, with a flat underbelly and multi-level tiered superstructure on top. It even had enormous orange sails, which provided only aesthetic appeal whilst in the vacuum of space. Poualiac's kajidic family seal, a seashell with four twisting horns spiraling out from it at each corner, was painted upon the sails and on each side of the ship.

The transport was lowered onto the floor of the hanger softly before being released by the tractor beams. Two assault teams emerged from the hangar's airlock, heavy blasters in hand. They surrounded the transport, their weapons trained at the ship's closed boarding ramp. They waited silently until Poualiac himself arrived in the hangar, flanked by the neimoidian Agarma and a discolored bronze protocol droid.

Poualiac grumbled in huttese towards the transport. The protocol droid offered a translation in basic. "The mighty and all powerful Poualiac begs you to surrender and submit before his magnificence. Surrender now, or we will destroy you."

Poualiac started and glared at his protocol droid, slapping it in the back. "Surrender now, we will NOT destroy you. Poualiac's mercy is known throughout the galaxy. Surrender now and give Lord Poualiac the location of your compatriots."

The external speakers on the transports, standard equipment on security ships, crackled to life. "So...they slipped out of your slimy hands?" came Koravin's labored voice.

Poualiac roared angrily. His mercenaries responded with a smattering of blaster fire, peppering the transport. Agarma whispered something to Poualiac, who paused for a moment.

"Surrender now and we will not torture your pilot to death, the nautalan."

"Alright...I surrender," Koravin announced after a long pause. The boarding ramp slowly opened. Poualiac's eyes widened in surprise, but he ordered his mercenaries to board the transport.

"Hold on...my lord," Agarma attempted to say. Suddenly the rear of the transport exploded, showering the hangar with metallic shrapnel and fire.

The few mercenaries who survived at the edge of the blast got unsteadily to their feet, finding most of the transport a twisted pile of burning wreckage. Agarma stood and brushed her hands over her robes, finding herself almost completely unharmed. She glanced over towards her master, more than a good part of her hoping to find Poualiac dead.

But instead she found the slug-like Poualiac writhing about in pain, a piece of shrapnel sticking out of his shoulder. The protocol droid next to him had been completely sheared in half by flying debris.

Agarma reluctantly approached Poualiac, grabbing onto the piece of durasteel and swiftly removing it. The hutt roared in pain, but seemed to quickly recover.

"Go inspect the wreckage," Agarma shouted, nodding towards a couple surviving mercenaries. Poualiac reached out and grabbed her by the arm, forcing her to struggle with the Hutt until he was upright.

"I want him dead!" Poualiac shouted.

"I think he took care of that himself," Agarma said.

"I want the others dead! I want that pilot dead!"

"My lord, we should keep the pilot alive." Poualiac stared at Agarma angrily and then reached for the wristband containing the control device wrapped around her arm. Agarma swiftly grabbed the hutt's hand, preventing Poualiac from activating the execution device implanted in her chest. "My lord, if you allow me to explain. If we keep the pilot alive we can interrogate it...I mean torture it...until we learn the location of the pirate's hideout. We want to get revenge on all of them." Poualiac stared into Agarma's face, processing her argument. The Hutt seemed to relax, calmly tearing her arm away from Agarma's grasp.

"Fine," Poualiac agreed. "Do as you will. But if we don't find them I will have your head as well." The Hutt began to slither away as emergency response crew began to stream onto the hangar and get the burning wreckage that was once the security transport under control.

oOoOo

The turrets of the _Blackpool Flier_ fired away as the last of the Hutt's DuneLizard starfighters peeled away and retreated back towards Poualiac's flagship. On the bridge Opuk and Kellash were busy managing the ship's subsystems, attempting to get several ongoing crises under control. For one thing the loading ramp in the cargo bay was stuck open, having been damaged by blaster fire when they were still trapped within Formos' spaceport. Since then the Hutt's fighters, and one security forces fighter, had scored direct hits that had penetrated the _Fliers_ shields. Electrical systems had shorted out, but the shifa family of ishi neelabi twins had successfully rerouted power.

"We're ready for the jump to hyperspace," Kellash's deep voice announced through the ship's comm, his catfish-like whiskers twitching nervously.

"We're aboard and secure," Pleff answered through the comm from the rear of the ship. The surviving members of Koravin's team had just transferred aboard from the barely functioning security transport.

"What about the captain?" Opuk asked, who was free to fly the ship more casually after the Hutt's starfighters had retreated. Kellash stared intently at his sensor station.

"The captain's transport just entered their hangar," he answered.

"We have to help him...we can't abandon him to the Hutt," Opuk said over the comm, appealing to Pleff, who was now in charge.

"We don't have a choice," Kellash shook his head. "We can't take much more damage, and we would be hard pressed against that Hutt ship even if we still had Half-Stock and Cutter were still with us."

"He's right," Pleff said as watery streams of angry tears began running down arachnid-like face. "We have to retreat."

Suddenly there was a flash of light from within the distant hangar of Poualiac's ship. Kellash lowered his head while Opuk's many eyes widened in surprise.

"He's gone," Kellash announced. "I just hope he took that kriffing Hutt out with him."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Emergency sirens were blaring on all sides around Moabis, a deafening crescendo that nearly nauseated the klatoonian. Sweat poured from her forehead and her body, the exertion from carrying the unconscious pirate nearly causing her to collapse. Fortunately, she only had a few meters left to traverse before she reached the Hutt dropship, which was still sitting upon the smoke-filled street. She turned at the sound of blaster-fire, which reverberated from the next block over.

" _Sleemo trandoshan,_ " she swore in huttese. Trandoshans were famous for their hot temper, and clearly Lomagar wasn't above the stereotype. She only wished she were in a position to give orders. If she could she wouldn't allowed the rest of the squad to get distracted from their mission. Their master hadn't sent them to the surface to kill security officers, regardless if they were fired upon.

Moabis was well aware of the pain that Poualiac was sure to inflict upon the pirate she carried. But she also knew that if the nautalan did not reach the Hutt gangster alive, horrible tortures would be directed at her instead. She labored up the transport's boarding ramp and deposited Half-Stock upon one of the benches. After restraining the prisoner she then retrieved a medical kit from the ceiling of the transport. From it she removed a flexible band, which went around the nautalan's wrist. The band transmitted her life signs to a datapad inside the kit. She removed the datapad and turned it on, and discovered that the pirate was in critical condition. Without the immediate medical attention available on Poualiac's flaghsip she was sure that the nautalan would die.

She quickly moved from the passenger compartment into the cockpit, where the pilot was still seated. The rodian, wearing a flight helmet more common when flying a fighter, was monitoring his sensor station.

"Take off, koochoo," Moabis barked at the pilot in huttese. The rodian jumped in his seat, apparently oblivious that Moabis had boarded with the prisoner.

"Not without Lomagar's order...he's in charge," the rodian said with a shake of his head. He stared at Moabis despite increasing fury, which apparently he was unable to discern on her klatoonian face.

Moabis exited the cockpit and returned a moment later, carrying her heavy repeating blaster rifle. She shoved the barrel up against the pilot's neck. "If pilot likes head, fly home, fly now."

"Right, we'll be off then," the rodian said after a pause.

" _Na yoka, peedunky, "_ Moabis said.

The dropship lifted off, affording Moabis a good view of the city as they ascended high into the atmosphere before she returned to the passenger compartment. Formos' capital city almost appeared as if it had been bombarded from orbit. Thick columns of black smoke still poured into the sky. Emergency vehicles were flitting about like panicked insects, fleeing from a burning hive. Moments after Moabis' transport returned to Poualiac's flagship an Imperial-class Star Destroyer and two Gozanti-class transports jumping into the system from hyperspace. Poualiac didn't stick around to gauge the Imperial's disposition. He immediately ordered his ship into hyperspace, leaving Lomagar and the handful of surviving mercenaries behind.

Normally the sight of an Imperial ship would have filled the inhabitants of Formos with dread, but today they were saviors. Imperial tie fighters roamed the skies, ensuring that no further battles could break out, even if there had been any willing participants remaining. The Gozanti transports descended through the atmosphere and landed on the street outside the wreckage of the spaceport. Each transport lowered its ramps, depositing a steady stream of Imperial stormtroopers. They established a perimeter around the transports as civilians gravitated towards them. Soon technicians from the transports began distributing care packages, which consisted of rations and supplies transferred from the orbiting star destroyer. The strong contingent of stormtroopers around them ensured the lines leading to the technicians remained orderly.

At the remains of Formos' security force headquarters a team of emergency workers were sifting through the wreckage, searching for survivors. One of them called out, drawing the attention of a floating lifter droid. The droid carefully shifted some debris, revealing Thom Gorono battered form. The building had completely collapsed after Koravin's transport had collided with it, but somehow the security chief had survived. The worker pulled him out and transferred him to a medical professional, who looked him over quickly and then gave him an oxygen mask. Gorono sat there for half an hour, staring absent mindedly as the rescue crew gave up on pulling any further survivors from the headquarters and moved on to the next ruined building. A few minutes later noticed an Imperial officer approaching, flanked by a squad of stormtroopers.

"Thank the stars you've arrived," Gorono said, removing his mask. "What took you so long?"

The officer appraised Gorono for a moment, a look of disdain on his face. "The Star Destroyer _Dark Frost_ mobilized as soon as command received your high alert distress call. We traversed three subsectors in two hours, all the while mobilizing our garrison. I'd watch your tone if I were you."

"My tone?" Goron asked, a sudden fit of anger arising from within him. "There was a bloody war going on here. My force is not equipped to handle this sort of thing!"

"Your force?" the officer asked, clearly skeptical. "Are you Security Chief Thom Gorono?"

"Yes, clearly," Gorono answered, shaking his head angrily. Which hurt his neck, causing him to wince in pain.

"Right. You're under arrest," the officer announced. He motioned to the stormtroopers, two of which stepped forward and hauled Gorono to his feet.

"Under arrest? What's the meaning of this?"

"I know for a fact you take bribes," the officer said, a malicious grin playing across his face. "There are also the charges of gross incompetence, tax evasion, general embarrassment to the Empire, off the top of my head...we're going to make an example out of scum like you."

Gorono began to protest loudly, but after a shock from a stormtrooper's stun baton, calmed down considerably.

The officer looked over the crushed remains of the security station and spat onto the pile of debris before following the stormtroopers down the street.

oOoOo

The swamps of Ando were hot, humid, and stank with the fetid smell of rotting vegetation. It was the summer months near the equator, and likely the time of year that the mid-rim received the least amount of tourists. Not that it received very many any other time of the year.

The _Blackpool Flier_ sat hidden beneath the safety of its underwater cave, which could only be accessed after a quick dive through the shallow sea. The ship had taken on water after submerging, which was only a problem for Lokil, being the only non-aquatic inhabitant of the ship at the time. The breather the others had given him didn't work quite right, but he hadn't quite needed it. The water only rose to his chest before the ship rose out of the water once they had entered the air bubble their lair was built within.

The ship lowered and the surviving crew, exited their battered ship. Lokil emerged to find that they had built their home berth out of cargo containers and spare bits of durasteel. A power generator sat above the compartments on durasteel stilts, which looked liked it had been pulled out of a starship. They led him through the maze of compartments until they reached a central meeting area. He was about to sit upon a rather moldy looking divan when Pleff grabbed him by the shoulder from behind.

"You're the first outsider to see this place. If it weren't for the captain last wishes we would've thrown you out the airlock on the way home. If you speak about this place to anyone we will find you and gut you like a fish," the mon calamari threatened.

"I...I don't even know the coordinates," Lokil said, raising his hands in a signal of surrender. "What world are we on?"

Pleff narrowed his large bulbous eyes in suspicion but decided not to push the issue. "Stay put. I will tell you where to stay after I talk with the crew." Lokil noticed the rest of the crew filing into a double story container, or rather two containers stacked atop one another and welded together.

Lokil lay down upon the couch, the stench of which he was sure would permanently rub off on him, and closed his eyes. His emotions were a mix of rage, exhaustion, and a dull ache he could only describe as fear. One moment he had been conducting business as usual, the next his entire world was crashing down around him. He didn't know if his apartment on Formos had survived the battle, but the small outer rim world was not his permanent home of course...he had bank accounts and property across the galaxy. But he was sure that very few, if any, of his employees had survived the destruction rained upon the Black Spike Cantina.

He sat up and gazed toward the large structure the pirates were currently meeting within. He was small fry compared to Poualiac, but he had a lot of resources to draw upon. And he had close personal friends with resources of their own. Including the Coruscanti gangster by the name of Kal Romaan who owned the Black Spike. He owed it to him, his dead employees...not to mention Koravin. Lokil bowed his head for a moment. He had none of the qualities possessed by that pirate, not his bravery, ferocity, or daring. He, more than anyone else, had gotten the feeorin killed.

Pleff emerged from the meeting room, followed by Opuk, Kellash, and both of the Elarza twins. Lokil noticed the blaster in his hand.

"Wait, you can't kill me," Lokil pleaded.

"I'm more than capable of it," Pleff said, his voice a mix of anger and grief. "And we've decided that you are the one who got half our crew killed. Not to mention our captain...you got him killed, it's only fair that you join him in the afterlife."

"That is fair, completely reasonable," Lokil agreed. "But killing me won't bring you revenge upon the one being that is truly responsible for all of this. Poualiac the Hutt."

Pleff raised his blaster, pointing it directly at Lokil's face.

"Wait," Opuk said, placing one of her many hands upon Pleff's blaster.

"I have credits, and powerful friends to go with them. Poualiac has made a lot of enemies with his clumsy attack on all of you. Let me help you make that _karking sleemo_ pay for Koravin's death. Let me help you make him pay with his blood."

Pleff stood as if transfixed, his eyes closing for a moment. When they opened his voice was even more watery and guttural than normal. "You'll give us resource you have. And you aren't leaving my sight until Poualiac…" Pleff spat upon the ground, "is dead."

"Deal," Lokil said, raising his hand. After another tense moment Pleff lowered his blaster and shook his hand.

"Let's bury the captain now," Kellash said.

They led Lokil to an empty compartment room and locked him. While he was secure Pleff organized the others. They emptied every belonging Koravin owned, as well as the belongings of the other lost crew. They carried the belongings through the disorganized array of compartments until they reached a shallow pool on the other side of the cave, opposite of the _Blackpool Flier._ Item by item they deposited the loot into the pool.

"Go get the devaronian," Pleff ordered. One of the Elarza sisters departed and soon returned with Lokil, who looked on the sight of the gathered crew and the floating debris drifting in the pool with solemn interest.

"We say this prayer for Walaa. _Chobasa e backa bunko bootana. Mee jewz ku, pateesa,"_ Pleff said aloud, his head bowing for a moment.

" _Mee jewz ku, pateesa,"_ the others repeated. Lokil bowed his head but remained silent.

Pleff repeated the prayer for each fallen member they had lost; two of the Neelabi family, Cutter, Saruush, and Half-Stock. He saved Koravin for last. "We say this prayer for Koravin. Dread Pirate. _Chobasa e backa bunko bootana. Mee jewz ku, lorda."_

" _Mee jewz ku, lorda,"_ the others repeated. With that Pleff nodded towards two of the neelabi, one of which carried a large fuel container and the other a plasma torch. The one emptied the container into the pool, spreading the thick liquid atop the drifting belongings, while the other igniting the torch. Once the fuel had dispersed throughout the water the neelabi brought the torch down.

The fuel ignited, and a bright blue and orange fire erupted into life. The flotsam was immediately consumed. The pirates drifted off to their own containers, silence, except for the sound of the fire, filling the cave.

Lokil was the last to turn from the burning pool. He assumed they would want him to confine himself in the container they had earlier left him in. His gaze was at his feet, and he didn't realize he had taken a wrong turn until he smacked into a container wall. He winced in pain and grabbed one of his horns, which was especially sensitive to head trauma. He looked at the container which he had struck, and realized the entrance was more ornate than the others. It had belonged to Koravin.

Lokil looked around and noticed that a pool of water, which lead back into the deeps, wound itself around Koravin's compartment. A pair of cables wound through two holes in the side of the container and travelled into the pool. Lokil walked over and gazed into the water, discovering two hand built nurseries. His eyes widened at the side at two incubators, within which, to the devaronian's untrained eye, grew two healthy opee sea killer embryos.

He knelt down beside the water, placing a hand into the water above one of the incubators. "You little guys are his legacy...and I think I know just what to do with you. Poualiac is going to be _creespa bitey_ fish food. _Karking sleemo._ "

oOoOo

Authors Note: Thank you for reading Space Pirates: _The Blackpool Flier_. I hope you enjoyed it. To find out what happens next, please read Agents of Imperial Intelligence.


End file.
